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“Havana Cafe Bar de temática cubana ubicado en la principal playa de Palma de Mallorca, la Playa de Palma. Disfruta de un cóctel mientras contemplas las espectaculares puestas de sol sobre el mar Balear. Los cruceros se deslizan lentamente hasta el puerto deportivo de Palma y los turistas y lugareños pasan junto a ti en el paseo marítimo. Palma, promociones en bebidas, bares, clubes, lounges, pubs, clubes nocturnos, vida nocturna, entrada con lista, calendario de eventos, música en vivo, horarios de espectáculos, promociones bebidas, happy hour. La salsa, el baile y las risas son una constante en Havana Café, Mallorca. Dirección: Carretera Arenal 4 Playa de Palma, 07610 Palma de Mallorca, Majorca Spain para más información haga clic aquí”

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“Raffe lifted the latch on the heavy door and sidled in. As usal, he gagged as he took his first breath in the cloying, fishy stink of the smoke that rose from the burning seabirds, which were skewered on to the wall spikes in place of candles. In the dim oily light, he could make out the vague outlines of men sitting in twos and threes around the tables, heard the muttered conversations, but could no more recognize a face than see his own feet in the shadows. A square, brawny woman deposited a flagon and two leather beakers on a table before waddling across to Raffe. Pulling his head down towards hers, she planted a generous kiss on his smooth cheek. Thought you'd left us,' she said reprovingly. You grown tired of my eel pic?' How could anyone grow tired of a taste of heaven?' Raffe said, throwing his arm around her plump shoulders and squeezing her. The woman laughed, a deep, honest belly chuckle that set her pendulous breasts quivering. Raffe loved her for that. 'He's over there, your friend,' she murmured. 'Been wait ing a good long while.' Raffe nodded his thanks and crossed to the table set into a dark alcove, sliding on to the narrow bench. Even in the dirty mustard light he could recognize Talbot's broken nose and thickened ears. Talbot looked up from the rim of his beaker and grunted. By way of greeting he pushed the half-empty flagon of ale towards Raffe. Raffe waited until the serving woman had set a large portion of eel pie in front of him and retreated out of earshot. He hadn't asked for food, no one ever needed to here. In the Fisher's Inn you ate and drank whatever was put in front of you and you paid for it too. The marsh and river were far too close for arguments, and the innkeeper was a burly man who had beaten his own father to death when he was only fourteen, so rumour had it, for taking a whip to him once too often. Opinion was divided on whether the boy or the father deserved what they suffered at each other's hands, but still no one in those parts would have dreamed of report ing the killing. And since the innkeeper's father lay rotting somewhere at the bottom of the deep, sucking bog, he wasn't in a position to complain.”

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“Is there any other place where a more vibrant palette of human behaviour can be observed than the Scottish pub? Our drinking holes are social spaces, shelters and, with the rise of flexible working and free WiFi, informal offices. The pub is a courtroom, a therapist's clinic, a place to let socks dry out after an arduous day orienteering. Relationships begin and end in its confines. Pub dogs become celebrities. If we run with the myth that there are languages with fifty words for snow, Scots could match that with their own terms related to the act of drinking.”

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“Doreen Fernandez' foreword to "Rizal Without the Overcoat": His essays remind us that history need not and should not be relegated to schoolbooks and classrooms, where it often becomes a set of names and dates to memorize and spew out on test papers. History is a living and lively account of what we were and are; it could and should be as real to each of us as stories about family or about recent and past events.. If all of that makes us understand humanity better, so does history make us understand ourselves, and our country infinitely better, in the context of our culture and our society.”

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